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1
When Razor’s best friend sat him down and told him it was time they both grew up, he thought maybe that oughta be a wake-up call. And then, when he took it a step further and said he no longer wanted to be called “Paps,” like he had been for almost fifteen years, Razor decided that, maybe, it was time to check the mirror to see if he was getting as gray as his friend was.
Gunner “Paps” Godet had been Tabon “Razor” Sharp’s fellow Marine, sidekick, partner in crime, wingman, and confidant since they’d both arrived at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego for boot camp. It had been a fluke that Godet was even there. Given Gunner was an East Coast boy, he should’ve been sent to Parris Island in South Carolina. But his dad was a USMC O-8, also known as a two-star, who oversaw the base at Camp Pendleton, north of San Diego. That meant Gunner had his pick.
Razor hadn’t cared either way, although everybody he served with later, told him how damned lucky he’d been to end up where he had.
“What the hell are you doin’ now?” Gunner asked.
Truth was, he was standing in front of a mirror, giving himself a pep talk. It wasn’t being a groomsman in their mutual friend’s wedding that worried him, or even that K19 Security Solutions—the company he and Gunner owned with two other partners—was morphing so quickly he hardly recognized it anymore. Instead, it was the woman his friend’s fiancée had paired him up with in the wedding party.
Avarie McNamara, who he should’ve forgotten months ago, wound up center stage in every fantasy he had when he needed to take the edge off. It didn’t help that the one and only time he’d met her in person, she was wearing the hottest damn bikini he’d ever seen.
She’d let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she was interested that day, but he hadn’t been able to take her up on it. He’d been on the clock, filling in as her friend’s bodyguard long before she knew she had one.
He’d known a lot about Ava prior to her coming on to him that day, but he hadn’t allowed himself to get to know her in the intimate way she was suggesting.
“It’s a damn tuxedo,” Gunner griped, interrupting his thoughts of the gorgeous woman he was about to see for the first time in over a year. “There’s one way to wear it. Nobody gives a shit what you look like, anyway. Let’s go.”
It wasn’t unusual for Gunner to be grouchy. Razor hadn’t really known him to be any other way. But in the last six months, it had gotten a lot worse.
He understood why, though. No one else had been under their watch for as long as “Barbie” Hess had been. When she went off her rocker, decided to make a deal with some really bad Russian dudes, and then threatened to kill one of their own, Gunner had been the one forced to take her down.
Razor rubbed his chest where it still hurt to think about. It had to be so much worse for his friend. It wasn’t just that Gunner was responsible for her death; Razor suspected that, at some point, Gunner had fallen in love with their former commander’s daughter. He’d never admit it, though, and Razor respected that.
“What is with you?” Gunner asked when they got in the car and Razor rolled his shoulders.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He realized that Gunner would be under the impression he was thinking about Barbie too, considering she had been the mother of the woman getting married today.
“Ava McNamara,” Razor admitted.
“Hot little number. Her twin too. How is she a problem?”
“I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Not like you,” Gunner muttered.
“You should’ve seen the bikini she had on, that day on Fire Island.”
He’d spent a total of twenty minutes with her, so for her to be on his mind at all was unusual.
But the fantasies? Shit. There were times they seemed so real he could swear he knew exactly how her nipples would harden under his touch, and how her wetness would coat his fingers when he sneaked them in her bikini bottom.
He could even remember how she’d smelled that day. At first it was of sand and sun and margaritas, but the longer they’d talked, the more the sweet scent of her arousal eclipsed everything else. That wasn’t something he had to imagine; that was a bona fide memory.
When Gunner pulled into the parking lot of San Ysidro Ranch just outside of Santa Barbara, Razor saw Penelope, another bridesmaid, walking along the pathway between two cottages.
If Ava was wearing the same dress Penelope was, those fantasies he’d been having would soon get a hell of a lot hotter.
The small amount of pale green fabric she wore was shorter than most bridesmaids’ dresses he’d seen, with a halter top that left little to the imagination. Ava and her sister, Aine, were far more endowed than this girl. He couldn’t even imagine how good the dress would look on them.
Gunner laughed. “You’re in for it.”
He knew it, but then there was always a chance that reality-Ava wouldn’t be half as hot as he remembered her being.
Plus, he knew her type. She was a spoiled little rich girl, looking for someone to take care of her the way Daddy did. He’d known plenty of girls like her. They hadn’t thought much of him until they found out he was a partner in a very successful security and intelligence business.
Then there was the other type. They’d take one look at the body he worked so hard to keep strong and fit, decide he didn’t have much of a brain, and treat him like a boy toy. He didn’t complain, though. It worked to his advantage when they were looking for someone to rock the shit out of their world but didn’t expect to be acknowledged by the next day’s light.
